


Collected Tumblr Fics

by icosahedonist (teljhin)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-12-07 02:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11614374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teljhin/pseuds/icosahedonist
Summary: What it says on the tin: various small fics from Tumblr!





	1. Sid fantasizing about Geno's mouth

Geno won't stop licking his lips.

It drives Sid half to madness at times, the way Geno can't seem to keep his tongue in his mouth—which is not precisely the worst problem to have, given the sort of fantasies he fuels, but Sid would like to keep a lid on his sanity and Geno isn't helping. The way he grins, tongue poking at the corner; the flash of pink as he rolls over his bottom lip; the chapstick he uses that gives him that bit of glossy shine: it's all _so much_. Sid knows he should just ignore it, but.

He thinks about Geno on his knees in front of him, and the shit-eating grin he'd get because oh, isn't it funny? Big bully Geno, submitting himself willingly to his captain, how amusing. And maybe it is a little funny, but Sid likes to think too about Geno's face transforming when Sid opens him up, first with his fingers and then with his dick. He thinks about how Geno's face would go slack with pleasure, and how from underneath dark lashes his big brown eyes would look up at Sid. Sid would pull out to thumb at that beautiful bottom lip, plump and red and slick with spit. Maybe he'd like Geno to suck him off; maybe he'd stripe Geno's face with his come. The fantasy goes in a lot of different ways but it all comes back to getting Geno's gorgeous mouth around him, being allowed to use it to his satisfaction—

But so long as there remains between them a friendship unbridged by something more, they're going to stay fantasies. That's fine by Sid.

He just wonders, sometimes, when Geno licks his lips, then turns to him, and his whole face lights up, if maybe…

Maybe…

(Or maybe that too is part of the madness: seeing maybes where there are none.)

(Sid keeps his fantasies.)


	2. Butts Make Good Pillows Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a Tumblr post: "ok ok so you know when cats knead their paws? A cat doing that on Sid's ass while Geno looses it.(and maybe films)"

Sid wakes up to the bed shaking slightly.

It's far too early for whatever Geno's up to; if he's masturbating, Sid's not participating and going back to sleep. And he's ready to do precisely that when he notices two things: Geno is trying to stifle laughter, and there's a warm lump on his ass.

He lifts his head and opens his eyes. "Shh, don't move. Perfect moment," Geno says. He ignores that and twists slightly to look behind him. His hip raises off the bed but it's not enough to dislodge Timothy, who is undeterred in his kneading of Sid's ass.

"What," Sid croaks. Geno laughs aloud now that Sid's caught on to what's happening.

"Cat making you nice and soft, Sid, good place for nap." Sid looks over at Geno and moves to snatch his phone away. Geno laughs harder, and Timothy runs off with an unhappy meow.

They wrestle over the phone for a minute before Sid manages to pin Geno to the bed by virtue of being the bulkier of the two. "You had enough fun this morning?" Sid asks. He tries not to let his amusement into his voice but doesn't quite succeed.

Geno hums. He slides one large hand down Sid's back to rest at the edge of his ass. "Think cat have good idea." And proceeds to grope Sid soundly while drawing him into a kiss.

As far as wake-up calls go, this one doesn't turn out half bad.

(But Sid never does get to delete the video from Geno's phone.)


	3. Daydream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a Tumblr post: "my favorite fanfic sidney trope: "housewife sidney who loves babies and all he wants to do is marry his dream husband geno, play hockey, and pack personalized lunches for his 12 children.""

Sidney's not prone to daydreaming a lot: if he wants something, he sets into motion actions that will achieve his goal. That's how he got to where he is today (though to be fair he didn't get here alone). And with his busy schedule, he's not left with a lot of time to idly fantasize.

But that's not to say that he doesn't. Time spent watching TV or on the exercise bike, for example, is perfect for a wandering mind. And these days, Sid's mind wanders off in one particular direction.

This fledgling relationship with Geno may be different in that there's significantly more kissing involved, but they're been together too long for it to truly be called new. But beyond their continued devotion to hockey and each other, Sid can't say for sure what will happen for them.

But in his daydreams, oh, they go far. He can see the wedding: Geno immaculate in his suit at the altar, sometimes on the shore of Great Lake, sometimes at the beach in Los Angeles, others in the wintertime in Vail. The decadent cake and the champagne-tinged first dance. A honeymoon somewhere far away from cameras and reporters and prying eyes.

They will live, of course, in Pittsburgh, because they still play for the Penguins. But do they move into Sid's place, or Geno's? Or do they buy a brand new house, somewhere to build on their own? Sid imagines the outings for furniture (because their old furniture might not match their new house), and curtains, and place settings, and candlesticks. Cuddling up under a warm blanket after a long day of shopping (which Geno, in his fantasy, graciously takes in stride). Making dinner together while soft music sets the mood.

And…

Further in the future are their children. Bright-eyed and full of exuberance, they fill their house with laughter and love. All of them are excellent skaters and enjoy hockey, but Sid and Geno encourage them to pursue other activities as they like. All four, no, five—six? That's a lot but they have a lot of love to give and also that fills up one half of a rink—all six of them especially enjoy the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that Sid makes just for them, because really, what child of his wouldn't, and—

Sid is startled out of his dream world when Geno claps a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at Geno staring at him, brow furrowed with concern. "Okay, Sid? I'm ring doorbell but you don't answer."

His face heats a little. "Sorry, I was kinda… distracted."

Geno sits next to him on the couch and glances toward the TV. It hasn't been on for some time, not since Sid turned it off to tune out the world. Running a quick up and down look over him, Geno asks, "Not much for distract. You think about something?"

Sid scrubs at his face. He doesn't really want to explain himself, but he also doesn't want Geno to worry, or think he's hiding something from him. "Just, uh. Daydreaming, I guess. No big deal, G."

Geno nods slowly, then, as he settles back against the cushions, smiles widely. "Good daydream?"

With a laugh Sid says, "Well." And he supposes he could leave it there and let Geno assume whatever he wants (probably something sex-related), but he kind of wants to share this. Wants Geno to share in it. "I was daydreaming about making our kids sandwiches, so. Pretty good."

Geno's eyes widen a little. But before Sid can get too far into worrying, Geno's smile softens and he replies, quietly, "Yes. Best dream." He draws Sid into his arms for a tender kiss.

Sid will always be action-oriented. But, he thinks to himself, maybe daydreams can help him achieve his goals too.


	4. Daydream Realized

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A followup to "Daydream".

Sid knows logically that all babies are small; even the ones who are born on the larger side, long or heavy or both, are tiny in comparison to any grown-up. Yet when he sees Lilia cradled in Geno's hands, held against his chest so carefully, his face in awe of hers all scrunched up and yawning, she seems like the tiniest being in the universe, more precious than anything else. Sid's heart thumps double-time when she fusses, and Geno murmurs words that soothe her, spoken quietly into the pink cap over her head as she calms and returns to sleep.

He doesn't know how this became his life. For so long he's traveled one path, and though the road often brings him to unexpected places, the path is one that's predictable. Knowable.

Until Geno. Until Lilia.

It doesn't seem so long ago that they exchanged their vows. Now here they are, their little family expanded by one, and Sid feels almost baffled at his amazing fortune. Before, he had only glimpsed this reality in his daydreams, but this is far beyond those pale imaginings. This is so much more.

Careful not to disturb her, Sid sits next to Lilia and Geno on their couch and marvels with him for a quiet moment. Her little mouth hangs open in a soft snore; her feet, bundled up under the blanket, twitch gently then settle. She'll soon be awake and wanting a bottle, but for now they watch her sleep.

"She's perfect," Sid whispers around the lump in his throat. He wants to reach out and touch her face, but he doesn't want to disturb her.

"Yes." Geno sounds equally choked up. "Most perfect thing I'm ever see." He turns to Sid with a watery smile. "Almost can't believe she's ours, Sid. Feels like—like dream."

Sid leans in close enough to share breath. "The best dream. You remember?"

Geno's smile turns to a grin. "Can't forget. You tell me so many time, all your dream for kids, for marriage. And now we're here. Best dream come true. Ohh, shh shh shh," he says to Lilia, who stirs momentarily. He adjusts her so he can smooth his thumb over her forehead. "Almost time for food. You heat bottle?"

"Sure, I'll do that." Sid takes a second longer to look at Lilia's wakening face before saying, "This is just the beginning. You know?"

Geno looks up at him. The beginning of parenthood, of Lilia's own journey, the children they'll bring into their family after her—it's all there in the gaze between them. Sid doesn't know for certain the path ahead of them, but when he looks at Geno and their daughter, he's never more certain that the path they're on is the right one. He's never more grateful for the unknown. And Geno replies:

"I know."

And Sid goes to get the bottle started.


	5. Ref AU: Game 2 Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt: "Thought: Sid as the ref towing Geno around during the game last night when everyone started fighting." 
> 
> Takes place during Game 2 of the Penguins/Senators series on May 15th, 2017.

"C'mon, Malkin, walk away." Sid gets between him and Ryan and puts his hands up on Malkin's shoulders, trying to skate him back.

Ah geez, Malkin's face turns mulish; Sid really hopes he doesn't make a break for it back toward the Senators, because Sid has neither padding nor patience for this sort of thing. Why can't refs carry water bottles? Or rolled-up newspapers?

"Fucking piece of shit slash me—"

"I know."

"Then _he_ go after me—"

"I know."

"Fucker needs to—" And with thinned lips Malkin cuts off to head toward where Maatta and Stone are going after each other. Great. He doesn't even have a _helmet_ on, what the hell is he thinking?

Sid slides back around to face Malkin's thunderous expression. He holds up his hands and says, firmly, "That's enough Malkin. Let it go."

Malkin finally looks at him, and for a flicker of a second Sid thinks he might plow by him anyway. He doesn't; with a noisy exhale Malkin skates wide of the fray.

Penalties are assessed and the game finally ends with a Pittsburgh win and no further shenanigans. After Sid finishes his post-game duties, he cleans up and heads out, only to see Malkin (no, Geno now) waiting for him in the hallway.

Sid frowns. "Shouldn't you be catching a plane to Ottawa?"

"Plane wait for me," Geno replies with a grin. At Sid's disapproving expression his face softens and he says, "Little bit of time. Wanted to see you."

"I'll be here for Game 5." The personal, non-professional side of him is annoyed that there'll be a fifth game, but he keeps that bit quiet.

Geno nods. "Good. Also wanted to say…" He hesitates. "Say sorry, Sid. Almost don't listen to you and go after Stone." That mulish look makes a return. "Can't mess with Olli and do nothing."

And okay, he knows that feeling well enough. "I know, G. But you did, and it all worked out." He doesn't really get why Geno feels the need to apologize, but if it makes him feel better or whatever, then Sid's not going to stop him.

Geno nods again. "Always listen to you, Sid," he says, solemn, "even when you hardass ref."

Oh good grief. Sid rolls his eyes. "I can't not do my job, c'mon—"

Geno's tongue pokes out of his mouth. "Yes, I know. You best ref, most fair. Give me misconduct, I say okay, is what I deserve for fight." He shrugs, nonchalant, the effect of which is ruined by his toothy grin.

Sid huffs out a breath. "I'm sure your team would like it better if you didn't."

Here Geno affects a wide-eyed, innocent expression. "How you think I make captain? I'm best fighter, Sid!"

And Sid has to laugh, because Geno is so, so ridiculous and wonderful and… And Sid wishes, just a little, that he'd stayed with playing hockey, because how good would it be to share the ice with Geno as a fellow player, as maybe a _teammate_ …

He doesn't voice these things. Not just then, anyway. Instead he shoves lightly at Geno's shoulder and says, "Okay, _captain_. Go catch your plane or I won't be the only one giving you penalties tonight."

Sid lets Geno crowd him against the wall and shares a too-brief kiss before Geno backs away again. "See you Game 5," Geno says with a deep, promise-filled rumble that has Sid fighting a shiver. With one last look, Geno turns and walks off.

Sid watches until he turns a corner out of sight. He hoists his bag higher on his shoulder, and with a happier heart, walks away too.


	6. Ref AU: Geno takes care of an ailing Sid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt: "I'm feeling really tired sick and sore at the moment. Would love some more captain geno and referee sid if you were up to is please ?"

"Did you see that slash on Zaitsev," Sid croaks from his mound of blankets on the couch. "That was clearly a slash. That's two minutes right there." And then proceeds to bury himself further in a spirited attempt to cough up a lung.

Geno did not see the slash, as he was and is busying himself with heating up some soup for his ailing boyfriend. The ‘boyfriend' part is still quaint enough when he thinks it that he feels a warm thrill go through him; the ‘ailing' part makes him hum in sympathy for Sid's couch-side reffing. "Yes, very terrible. Should call up Toronto, have them review call."

"Fuck you," Sid mutters. Then louder: "Fuck you! Oh my god, you call tripping for that but not on that shit from earlier? Where the hell did you learn to officiate, buddy, in some back alley beer league?!"

Geno's pretty sure there's no such league, but he supposes that's not the point. He loads up a tray with the soup and returns to the living room where Sid is grouchily hugging the blankets around him with what can only be described as his pissy ref face. It's pretty cute (since Geno isn't on the ice actively debating a call with Sid, which he's done plenty of times now). Of course right now the pissy ref face is blotchy with redness and snuffly and running a mild fever, but no one's perfect.

"Here, eat this." He hands Sid the tray, then settles in next to him. Sid eyes the soup balefully but picks up the spoon and begins to eat not so much with gusto, but with a plodding necessity. Geno will take what he can get.

After a few minutes Sid says, "You're gonna get sick too if you keep being around me."

Probably so, but. "Best immune system, Sid." He inhales loudly, as if he were at the summit of some immense, rocky mountain and the only thing left to do is suck in a manly lungful of the great outdoors. Maybe that's what he'll do next summer. They can go camping. It'll be awesome.

Sid attempts a laugh; attempts because it's more of a groan and what little air whistles through his nose is snot-tinged.

Geno tries another tack. "You think I leave you to be sick alone?"

Sid's face screws up with determination. "I can manage on my own. I have managed on my own."

Geno fights off a sigh. He signed up for this. "But it's better when you not alone. Who bring you soup? Who give you nice blankets and make you sick-nest on couch?" Sid tries laughing again but Geno soldiers on. "Who listen to you ref game? Don't have to, okay, but I want to." And with that he gets right up in Sid's face and pokes at a flushed cheek. "Eat my soup."

Shouldering him back a little, Sid smiles that crooked smile of his, the one Geno gets all dopey over. "Okay, whatever. But you're gonna get sick. The Pens are gonna scratch you for a cold."

Geno scoffs but says nothing. Sid returns to the soup with a little more interest, and together they finish watching the game, even though the referees are still inept, and Sid reminds Geno of this many times and in great detail, and Geno agrees.


	7. Ref AU: "Malkin-whisperer"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt: "Oh my gosh could I please read more of Ref Sid dealing with Geno on the ice because I don't know Crosby, you're like the Malkin whisperer or something"

"Pittsburgh number seventy-one, two minutes for tripping."

Sid knows the moment those words leave his lips he's going to get a reaction. Naturally: he's in Pittsburgh right now so the crowd is upset that their captain is being penalized. And of course the player in question is most likely going to argue the call, because ever since that little "incident" last year, Malkin has been all too keen to disagree with his assessments.

Sure enough Malkin skates toward Sid, his face set in a confused, hurt, and disapproving expression. He has a lot of emotions for a two-minute minor, Sid thinks, but he finds that true of a lot of hockey players.

"What? No! No trip! Skinner lose edge!" Malkin is attempting to make his point with broad arm gestures, but Sid's not swayed.

"Your stick came up under his blade." He points toward the box where the attendant stands waiting by the door. Malkin makes no move toward it. Sid expects one or two more comments before Malkin sullenly drags himself to the sin bin to wait out the penalty kill. Yet after a few seconds of staring each other down, Malkin huffs, shakes his head, then skates (sullenly) to the box.

That. Was a lot easier than Sid expected. He didn't expect a real argument, as Malkin tends to pay his dues after he gets some bluster out of his system. Sid suspects some of it is for show; nevertheless, Malkin very rarely is genuinely upset over a call, much less one that Sid hands out. Still. They kind of… have a routine, if you can call it that: if Sid is officiating and makes a call against Pittsburgh, Malkin gets all captain-y and will argue it, even if it's plain as day that the call is the right one. And it did start after that mis-jump into the Penguins' bench. It could be coincidence, of course, but…

The other referee, Erkland, slides up alongside Sid and mutters, "I thought that'd drag out more. What'd you say to him?"

Sid shrugs. "Just told him the truth." They part and take up their positions for the penalty kill, and Sid tries to shake the feeling that Malkin is watching him.


	8. Ref AU: Asking Sid on a date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt: "Seeing as you love it so much, and I absolutely am enthralled with it , could I possibly ask for more referee sid and geno"
> 
> I asked around a little more and this was what was suggested!

Today's the day. Today, Geno is finally going to ask Sidney Crosby on a date.

It's been months since that fateful game in December, when Crosby jumped out of the way of oncoming players and landed in Geno's lap. When Geno's world changed for the better. Since then he's slowly made himself known to Crosby by chatting him up whenever Crosby officiates a Penguins game; while he knows he should take less penalties anyway, at the very least it's a good way for Geno to talk to his favorite referee (even if it is mostly harmless arguing of calls). And it's not been fruitless: Geno knows he's a steadfast official, dedicated to his job. When there is a call that Geno disagrees with, Crosby will patiently explain what he saw. He never gets worked up over players or coaches getting rude. He's friendly with the other referees and linesmen. His smile is crooked and his laugh is a goose's honk and he has the best ass Geno has ever seen (or felt).

All these things make Geno want to know more, so. Today.

(Maybe doing it during a hockey game isn't the best way to do it but Geno's an optimistic man.)

He decides to do it in the third period; that way he won't have the whole game to agonize over Crosby's response, whichever way it goes. During the commercial timeout he skates over to where Crosby is idling; he puts on his most charming smile and taps Crosby's skates with his stick.

A politely confused expression steals over Crosby's face. "Yes?"

Geno grins. "Good. Was hoping you say that. Now I don't have to ask." The ol' Malkin banter: he's got this.

Crosby's confused look grows. As if reading from a script, he asks, "Ask what?"

"Ask if you want to go on date with me." He waits a beat, his smile fixed in place.

And then waits.

And waits.

Crosby stares at Geno like he has two heads. Maybe he didn't hear? But the crowd isn't really that loud right now. Geno's about to ask him again when Crosby brings his whistle to his mouth and blows one piercing note, startling Geno back as well as a few of the guys on the bench.

"What you do that for?" Geno furrows his brow. "If you don't want, just say no, okay, I'm not—"

"It's not. Uh." Crosby visibly swallows. "We'll. We'll talk after the game. Okay? I have to… I have to get back."

"Back?"

Crosby gestures behind him toward the rink at large. "Yeah, back to. Uh. The game. It's. The game." He pauses, and Geno can see the moment when he realizes that a lot of what he's just said makes no sense whatsoever. Rallying, Crosby firmly says, "After the game."

Geno supposes that's better than an automatic shutdown, though maybe this is just delaying the inevitable. But he nods and the timeout is up and he goes back to the bench to watch the second line take to the ice.

Crosby doesn't pay him any mind when the puck is live, except when Geno is out on the ice and he has to watch for infractions. The game proceeds without a hitch, unless you count the fact that the Penguins lose in overtime, a bad turnover leading to the game-winning goal. This leaves Geno with a sour taste in his mouth, and by the time he exits the locker room he's almost forgotten that Crosby said they'd talk afterwards. So when he sees Crosby waiting, he steels himself for whatever might happen. He tells himself to be optimistic, but it's difficult with Crosby's expression being as grave as it is.

Before Geno can say hi Crosby starts talking. "I take my job very seriously. If you think dating me or chatting me up during games is going to change the way I make calls on the ice, you're wrong. I won't compromise on a call: if you take a penalty, or someone on your team takes a penalty, I'm not going to let it slide just because we know each other outside of hockey."

His gaze is steady as he waits for Geno to take that in. When Geno's parsed it all, he replies immediately.

"No! Would never ask you not do your job. I know you fair, know you do good job even if I don't like call. You best ref, you…" Geno shakes his head. "Would never ask you on date so I can take advantage for hockey. Never."

Crosby mulls over his words. Then, with a firm nod, he holds out his hand. "Okay, Malkin. We'll schedule a date."

Laughing, Geno shakes his hand. "We make date deal, like business? So formal, maybe we ask Bettman if okay?"

Crosby snorts indelicately even as his ears begin to tinge pink. "Just give me your number, we'll work out a time."

They exchange numbers on their phones, and when that's done they just smile at each other, a little lost in the moment. Crosby breaks it when he says, as if just remembering, "Oh, uh. I'm Sidney, by the way. Sid."

Geno knows this of course, but it's nice to be able to use his first name now.

"Evgeni. You can call me Geno."


	9. Musician AU: Sid and Geno meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not from a prompt, but I needed very much for people to imagine with me a jazz musician!Geno AU.

Sid decides to change things up a bit by going to a bar that advertises live music some nights. The bar has a laid back atmosphere, and no one comes up to him for an autograph or a selfie. It's great. And the jazz band is great: lively and sensual and full of surprises.

They're all exceptional musicians, but Sid's eye keeps roving back to the bassist. He's about as tall as the instrument he plays and has an easy smile. And frankly, his hands are enormous, and the way they glide over the strings is very… inspiring.

Sid comes back often enough that he becomes something of a regular, so perhaps it shouldn't be surprising when one night, while the band is taking a break, the bassist slides into the seat next to him at the bar and orders a drink.

"See you in here a lot," the man says, his voice deep and accented. He nods toward Sid's glass. "Like the drinks?"

Feeling bold, Sid says, "I like the music better."

The man grins, tongue clenched between his teeth in an endearing way. "Good. Always happy when people enjoy our music. I'm Geno." He holds out one of those big hands to shake; Sid takes it, and takes in the warmth as well as the texture of the calluses.

"I'm Sid."

"Nice to meet."

Geno lets go and takes a long sip of his drink, and Sid watches the bob of his throat with fascination. Bolstered by the loose atmosphere, a little liquid courage, and the fact that Geno approached him first, Sid lets the wild streak he feels building in him give voice to the thought he's been turning over for weeks.

"Are you doing anything after?"

Geno gazes at him, steady and considering. Sid lets him look, trying not to fidget under the scrutiny, more tasking than a full media onslaught. But finally Geno shrugs, and tosses the rest of his drink back with one smooth motion. "No plans later." His smile is slow but sure, and maybe a little cocky, which Sid finds he rather likes. "But maybe you do?"

With confidence, Sid returns the smile. "Maybe. How about dinner?"

Geno hums. "Will be late for dinner."

"Is that a no?"

"No, dinner is good," Geno replies. "Usually hungry after set is over. I go out with band but can skip tonight." His gaze dips briefly to Sid's mouth, and Sid encourages it by wetting his lips. "Usually tired too, so maybe need coffee."

Softly, Sid says, "I can get you coffee."

Geno's grin returns, full force. "Then you wait for me. Give you good show." And it doesn't really matter whichever way he's implying: Sid believes him.

So Geno goes back to his double bass, and Sid listens to him play the rest of the set. The music ends with a dreamy, lilting sort of song, and Sid gathers up his light jacket while Geno puts his instrument away. When they step outside into the brisk Pittsburgh air, the night feels full of possibilities.


	10. Musician AU: Tanger and Flower find out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt: "Imagine the team following sid one night because they all want to know who they're being ditched for on the regular. They find sid at the bar before the set, huddled up close to geno by the bar and all the players are just like !!"

"He's hiding something."

"Of course he is," Flower said absently, undoing the backs of his pads. "Who would tell you anything?"

Tanger groans and kicks at Flower's skate. Flower looks up and sees his friend standing there in his nice suit, his arms folded across his chest and looking far more serious than the situation probably warrants. It's probably the fact his neck is still recuperating that he's turned into this busybody, Flower figures. He doesn't do well idle. Hockey-less. Very similar to someone else they know.

"I mean it, Marc-Andre." Oh, using the first name now, it _must_ be serious. "He hasn't been out with the team in ages. You know how he feels about ‘team unity bonding time,'" he says in English in the sort of voice used to ridicule opponents. "He's being squirrelly."

"He's a squirrelly guy."

"No he's not, which is my point. What sort of secret would he hide from _us_ , for this long? If he's getting laid regularly he can tell us."

Flower thinks about adulthood, and the nature of the locker room, and the fact that while he himself is a nosy person when it comes to their captain, there are some things that should be left alone until the person in question brings them up. But this is a conversation better suited outside the locker room, because being in here turns grown men into gossipy little boys, and Flower is really no better.

"So what do you plan to do?"

Tanger smiles. He turns and calls across the room. "Sid!"

The man in question looks up from undressing, having just finished his media obligations. He raises his eyebrows but doesn't stop moving.

"You're coming out with us tonight. No excuses."

Laughing, Sid shakes his head. "Sorry Tanger, I've got other plans tonight. Maybe another night." The way he says it borders on being his speaking-to-the-press voice, which is likely just bleed from before, but it piques Flower's interest nonetheless.

The locker room really does affect a man's brain.

"C'mon, we miss you. Just a couple of drinks and then you're free to retreat back to your Friends marathon, or whatever your plans are." Tanger glances over at Flower as if to say, _aren't I clever?_ , and Flower restrains an eye roll.

But Sid won't be swayed. "Sorry Tanger," he repeats, "another time." And off he goes to the showers without a hitch or a stitch.

"I told you," Tanger mutters. Flower lets out a breathy laugh.

"Oh yes, real persuasive. You've a gift, my friend."

Tanger kicks at Flower's now-bare foot. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this, and you're going to help me. Get clean. I don't want Sid to catch wind of your stink."

Just for that, Flower gives him a face wash before he goes for his own shower. After, when Flower is dressed and the rest of the team has scattered and Dana and his equipment guys come in to do their magic, he meets Tanger at Tanger's car.

"If this ends badly I'm blaming you," he says once he's got his seat belt on. "I'll tell him this was coercion from the start."

Tanger snorts. They drive through downtown in silence, broken only by the occasional mutter from Tanger as he pokes at his dash-mounted phone. They don't go too far, however, and once they're parked in another garage, Tanger leads them to the front of a little bar.

It doesn't look like much from the outside: it's got some posters plastered on the glass of past and upcoming events, mostly jazz or blues, but nothing else about it really stands out. Once inside, the place is much more inviting. The bar lines the right wall, and cozy tables dotted with patrons fill the rest of the main area. At the back is the stage, and a couple of people—musicians, Flower figures—are setting things up for a performance.

It's not hard at all to spot Sid at the bar. Flower makes to go to him, but Tanger steers him instead to an empty table. It gives them a better view of Sid, who looks to be talking to the man next to him.

Flower studies them. They're bent toward each other, tangibly in each other's space but not touching. Whatever the man is saying has Sid smiling, and Flower is pleased to see it's the one he uses for people he likes. The man turns to look at the stage—his face is long and a bit reminiscent of a basset hound with his soft eyes—and then stands. He's tall, and thin, and when he looks back at Sid his expression is gentle. He lingers a moment longer before putting his hand on Sid's shoulder. Sid is still smiling, saying something too quiet to hear. The man lets his hand trail down Sid's arm as he backs away and heads for the stage.

Tanger leans in, a terribly self-satisfied expression on his face; Flower shoves him back. "Fine," Flower says before Tanger can get a word in. "It _looks_ like you might be right."

" _Might_ be right—"

"Yes, might be. We don't know for sure." Tanger scoffs. "So go ahead and ask him."

But Tanger shakes his head. "Not yet. I have to know if this guy is any good first."

For an absurd moment Flower thinks he's talking about in bed. But then he watches the man on the stage tune his upright bass, and, well. Flower's curious too. He still says, "What does that matter?" Because even if this guy is a hack, if he makes Sid happy, that's the important part.

"It just does," Tanger intones gravely, and Flower knows he's full of shit but he doesn't press. Like Tanger has some hidden musical talent that'll give him special insight into this guy's abilities.

So they sit back and take in the show. Enjoy it too (at least on Flower's part). The bassist, as far as Flower can tell, has solid rhythm, and does well no matter how slow or fast the song of the moment is. He breaks out a bow for one piece, the horsehair gliding over the strings in low, mournful tones that, at some signal from the band, become sweet like molasses as the song brightens gently. The band takes a break after one especially rollicking number, so when the man goes back to Sid (who's grinning from ear to ear), Flower decides it's time.

He grabs hold of a protesting Tanger and guides them to the bar. Upon seeing them, Sid's eyes grow wide for just a second before his expression smooths back down to what Flower would call his "I'm upset at you but I can't show it right now" face. Flower knows they're in for it, but it's too late to back out now. He puts on his most charming smile.

"Hey Sid! Small world, huh? Guess we can get those drinks together after all. Hey, you were really great up there," he adds, turning toward the musician, who looks a little lost but perks up at the compliment.

"Thank you."

"I'm Marc-Andre, by the way, and this is Kris. We're friends of Sid's."

The man glances at Sid, who nods curtly. "Flower and Tanger. You know."

Understanding eases into his expression. "Goalie and d-man, yes. Sid tell me about you. I'm Geno."

Tanger earns himself a sharp elbow to the side when he says, "That's weird, Sid's never mentioned you."

Sid's face goes tight at that. Taking a measured breath, he says, "I think I'll step outside, it's a little warm in here." He gives Flower and Tanger each a significant look, then softens when he looks back at Geno. "I'll be in before you go back on."

Geno searches Sid's face a moment before nodding. "Okay," he murmurs. He heads toward the stage, and the three of them exit the building.

Outside, Sid rounds on them almost immediately. "Did you fucking _follow me_? What the hell guys?"

Flower and Tanger try to speak at the same time.

"We just wanted to know—"

"You had your location turned on—"

Sid breaks in. "My location? That's for if I get lost, not for spying on me."

Tanger has the sense to at least look chagrined. "Okay, that was wrong of me. I'm sorry. But Sid, man, you've been avoiding the team for weeks now."

He scoffs. "I have not—"

Gently, Flower interrupts, "You have, Sid. You wouldn't tell us anything. We were getting a little worried."

"You know we don't mind, right? If you're dating him or whatever," Tanger adds.

Sid scrubs at his face and sighs. "It's really new. We've only been seeing each other for, like, a week now. I've been coming to the bar longer," he says. "I wanted to try something different so I started coming here. It's… been good. I guess I wanted to wait until things were a little more solid before saying anything, but." He looks at them wryly. "You two couldn't wait."

"Sorry Sid."

"Uh huh." Yet Sid smiles when he says, a little louder, "I should have Horny fine you both."

"But then you'd have to tell him the reason," Flower points out with a grin.

Sid grins back. "Well." He says nothing else, but Flower knows what he means.

Sid makes for the door but pauses before opening it. "Do you want to stay? They'll play for at least another thirty minutes."

Tanger and Flower look at each other. As if this is a legit question. "Yeah, let's go watch your boy play," Flower says.

"He's not ‘my boy'," Sid mutters, color high on his cheeks.

"He's your boy," Tanger sing-songs. Flower laughs, and they go inside, the warm glow of the bar inviting them in.


	11. Summer Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt: "I'm kinda tired and all my brain is throwing at me prompt-wise is a very loud and strident "TOUCH-starved NECK kissing" but what if we threw magic of some kind into the mix as as well? One of them is magic or everyone-is-magic-au or ?????"

Summer, Sid knew intrinsically, was the cruelest time of year. He couldn't abide the sweltering heat; he was built for cooler climes, for snow and ice and brisk air. Naturally the only respite to be found was at the rink, but even he couldn't stay at one forever.

Summer was also a time of parting: after spending the majority of the year with them, the team departed for the summer, back to their native lands or on vacations. Sometimes weddings or other events meant Sid got to see teammates again before training camp, but usually they kept apart, only speaking through calls or texts. Sid enjoyed his own time away from it all, but he still missed them.

And yet for its flaws, summer did have its advantages.

For example: with every parting came its inevitable reunion. So Sid looked forward to that singular moment when he laid eyes on Geno again, and cataloged all the ways summer had transformed him: sun-kissed skin, longer hair, and a touch more muscle from summer training. Geno would of course have a multitude of stories to tell him, and Sid had his share too, but those first moments were for closeness and the simple joy of just being together again.

Which was why they now lay naked together in bed with Geno sprawled atop Sid, nuzzling and kissing at Sid's neck while Sid clung and giggled softly. Another thing summer was good for: the heat made Geno's chilly breath much more satisfying. Sid tilted his head to allow for better access, and Geno obliged with cool, lingering kisses. Sid sighed, running his hands lazily through the sweat beaded upon Geno's back; if he had his way, they'd stay like this for days. Hours at the least.

Geno sighed too, icy air dancing over Sid's skin, causing goosebumps to rise. It felt glorious. Nowhere to be but here, Geno's solid presence anchoring him, his body feeding the skin-hunger that had built up during the long months apart: Sid felt on top of the world.

He also felt his spark rising within him, but it was a slow sort of crackle banked just beneath the surface. He held it there, because he had to be careful: too much would cause more than a mildly unpleasant shock. Like Geno, his gift wasn't that powerful, but it still paid to be cautious.

(It was fun to let static flow into his hands and make Geno's hair stand on end, though.)

Long moments passed and Geno eventually switched to the other side. Sid wondered if his neck was bruised. It was hard to tell underneath the lingering cold. As if sensing his thoughts Geno bit down, slowly but firmly, then soothed it over with a long exhale. Sid shivered and tightened his hold, and felt Geno smile against his skin.

"You're terrible," Sid murmured, no real heat in his voice.

Geno sucked a kiss over the bite. "Mmm. You like." He shifted downward toward Sid's collarbone.

"Yeah," Sid sighed out. He loosened his grip and dragged his hands up Geno's back—and startled out of his trance when Geno yelped.

He leveled a disgruntled look at Sid. "Shock me."

"Sorry." Sid moved to take his hands away but Geno pressed closer, head upon his chest.

"No."

"Geno—"

He lifted his head again to stare at Sid. "Not hurt," he said, a little sulky. "Just surprise me."

Sid said nothing. It was difficult in these moments, because as much as he wanted to bask in them, he had to be so careful not to let his spark build too much. He made sure to discharge it regularly, but adrenaline or heightened emotional states could boost his spark significantly. And Sid had learned the hard way that becoming intimate with someone could be fraught with peril.

Geno sighed, loud and showy. "Is okay, Sid. But," he said with raised eyebrows, "I'm pay back for shock." And with a smirk he took several deep breaths before lowering his mouth to Sid's chest.

The protest died a hitching, gasping death in Sid's throat as Geno's tongue laved over his nipple; it was like being licked by an ice cube. The spark zapped through his bones but stayed within him, winding tightly along his spine. The cold was a little painful but God, Sid didn't want him to let up. It made the contrasting summer heat bearable, and just felt so so good.

So when Geno pulled away it drew an unbidden sound from Sid. Geno chuckled.

"You gonna be good for me?"

"I thought this was payback," Sid grumbled.

"You be good and I pay you back special," he replied with a delicious roll of his hips. As if that wasn't enough to entice Sid, he leaned in close to hover just over Sid's mouth, his cold breath tickling his lips. "Get my mouth on you," he mumbled before he kissed Sid deeply.

It felt like his entire skin awoke to the possibilities awaiting him, and suddenly he needed that more than he could express with words.

Sid pressed Geno to him in reply, and held his spark at bay as Geno teased his way south, whispering icy promises upon him, holding summer off a little while longer.


	12. Deaged Sid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt: "Hey cosie! Idk but i love the idea of sid like being de aged and really just upset because at this point he has a ton a bullys and to come and see that he has an entire team that would lay down their life for their captain, him, and like that he has a husband that absolutely adores him making him all teary eyed and hopeful. sid just relieved that even though people still yell and push him around, he is so strong now and he has such a strong support structure and him being like it does get better"

Zhenya checks the living room when he hears the strange thump one afternoon, thinking it's probably just Sid having rolled off the couch mid-nap. He's right about it being Sid, but the anticipatory amusement at poking fun at him flees as he beholds a small child— _Sid_ —standing at the end of the couch. His t-shirt, now too big for his twelve-year-old or so frame, is the only thing he's wearing, the rest having slid off, and he's staring back at Zhenya with eyes so wide they look ready to pop. Zhenya's heart does a number of funny moves for the second or so before his brain kicks in.

"Hey, is okay," Zhenya says in his gentlest, most soothing voice (he hopes). "I'm Geno. You're at my house. I'm call your parents, okay? They explain everything." He slowly pulls his phone out of his pocket, waiting to see if Sid does anything other than gaze at Zhenya in what's edging toward utter panic. Other than breathe fast and shallowly, he doesn't, so Zhenya quickly dials up the Crosbys and prays that this all comes to a swift and painless conclusion.

Troy answers the phone. After exchanging hellos, Zhenya asks, "You remember last year, when I have my trouble?" "My trouble" is the euphemism of choice for when Zhenya went through a similar deaging incident; he prefers not to mention it at all if he can get away with it, but needs must and all that.

Troy makes a somewhat confused but affirmative noise. "Geno, what's this about?"

"Sid is little bit the same way now. Gonna hand phone over to Sid now, okay?" And with a deep breath, Zhenya holds out the phone to Sid, who takes it with all the delicate handling of a loaded gun.

So timidly it stabs at Zhenya's core, Sid asks in a high, faintly quavering voice, "Dad?"

Zhenya steps aside and gives them as much privacy as possible without letting Sid out of his sight. He makes a mental list of things he'll have to do; they'll need clothes for Sid, perhaps a week's worth, and they can be donated after Sid returns to normal. He'll have to put sheets on the bed in one of the guest bedrooms. If Sid's hungry, Zhenya can make something simple, or they could get some of that fake macaroni and cheese product Sid likes if he wants some comfort food. Yeah, that might be better than their typical hockey player fare—

Sid approaches with the phone held out. He still looks unsure, but he says, "Dad told me I'm staying with you for a while."

Zhenya pockets the phone and nods. "Yes." Feeling unsure himself, he finds himself at a momentary loss for words when Sid speaks again.

"He said we play hockey together."

Zhenya perks up at this. "Yes, on the same team, Sid. You great at hockey, best." But if anything, Sid looks warier than before; Zhenya puts that notion away for the time being and, after finding Sid some shorts with a good drawstring in them, they leave to get appropriate clothing and Kraft Dinner.

After they're back, Zhenya's a little reluctant to leave Sid to his own devices, but honestly, what's the kid going to do? Everything Sid's told him about his childhood suggests that he wasn't much trouble, so Zhenya feels fine about turning on the TV and handing over the remote after giving Sid a brief tour of the pertinent areas of their house. But it's no big surprise, either, when Sid eventually comes to linger in the doorway of the kitchen and asks if there's anything he can do to help.

Zhenya smiles while idling stirring the noodles. "No, is fine Sid. I'm have dinner ready soon, you go watch TV." Sid nods and leaves, and Zhenya dishes up dinner once it's done and then joins him.

Sid's about halfway through scarfing down his mac and cheese when he says, "So we live together."

Zhenya hums in agreement. It's hardly a secret, as there are plenty of pictures of them around the main parts of the house. Hell, there's a huge photo of them with the Cup hanging above the fireplace, dressed to the nines in their wedding tuxedos, grinning like the giant hockey nerds that they are. And Zhenya could see how that could unsettle a kid who may or may not even know he likes guys yet—he vaguely remembers his own misgivings when he was similarly transformed, and when he was naturally younger still—but he's not about to hide these things away. He's proud of them, and they've both worked hard to get to a point where there can _be_ pictures on the walls and shelves, so if this Sid has issues, well, he'll be back to normal soon enough.

But Sid says nothing more. They finish their dinner, and when Sid begins yawning Zhenya shuffles him off to bed. Zhenya's own bed is far too big now, and he winds up clutching Sid's pillow to his chest as he falls asleep.

Practice is an interesting affair. The team is of course curious about Sid's new and temporary state of being, but they seem to pick up the weird vibes Sid's throwing off. Instead of giving him space, like Zhenya might have, they all go out of their way to ham it up for Sid. They play-fight, and attempt increasingly ridiculous trick shots, and snow each other; they goof around while calling out for Sid to watch this. And when Zhenya looks over at the bench where Sid is seated, he delights in seeing him smiling and giggling, and even participating in some fairly tame trash talk.

So when Sid pinks up when Zhenya asks if he had fun, once they're walking back to the car, Zhenya counts the day as a success.

At home they settle into the den, the TV tuned in to one of NHL Network's many greatest hockey hits shows; in the middle of it Sid says, "They're a pretty good team, huh."

Zhenya glances over; Sid is resolutely staring at the screen, his eyes a little shiny. He turns back to the TV because he doesn't think Sid at any age would want him to see him tear up.

"Best team," he declares. "Everyone love and respect each other. Except maybe Tanger, he too dumb to love." He nudges Sid and gets a small laugh out of him; Tanger had been the one most determined to make Sid laugh at practice. A little quieter, he adds, "And team have best captain."

Sid says nothing, but even without looking Zhenya can tell he's smiling. They watch the rest of the program in silence.

Sid returns to normal on the eighth day, a little confused but no worse for wear. He lets out a surprised noise when Zhenya kisses him soundly but joins in eagerly, his arms wrapping around Zhenya as Zhenya's are fixed around Sid's waist.

"Hey," Sid breaths when they part, and Zhenya smiles helplessly at him, his heart overfull.

"Hi Sid. Welcome back."


	13. Elf/Human AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by “True Elf Fact #193: The number one cause of full-scale war among elves is jewelry theft.”

Elf Sid gives human Geno his necklace as a token of affection during some sort of diplomatic talks/festivities between elves and humans; his friend Horny had told him how Geno kept looking at him all day, and once Sid went up to Geno to talk to him, he found himself quite charmed. But his parents initially perceive this as thievery and start muttering about going to war with Geno’s people. Sid has to eventually admit that uhhhh NO Mom and Dad, I um. I gave it to him? Yes. To him. A human. I, an elf, gave him, a human, my necklace. Of my own free will. Yes. And Mom and Dad Crosby are very, But. He’s a human…? Are you sure? I mean, He’s. A human.

(Naturally, this is quite embarrassing, because a lot of Sid’s first thoughts are of the I JUST WANTED TO MAYBE SEX UP THIS HOT DUDE WHY IS THIS SO COMPLICATED variety.)

But they relent, and Geno is mutually charmed by Sid.

Now, Sid has a LOT of jewelry. Like. So much. And if it would please Geno to wear Sid’s things, Sid is quite happy to accommodate. While modest for the most part, Sid enjoys being expansive with his affections toward the people he cares for; if he can, and the person he’s doting on is receptive, then he gives his time/energy/possessions freely.

While the giving of jewelry is done in private, Geno is happy to go out and about at the rest of the talks/festivities adorned in Sid’s gifts. Which people (elves, anyway) notice. And they know what _that_ means.

Geno doesn’t know what that means. At first he just appreciates that Sid likes to see him in his jewelry so that’s cool. But he starts to notice that people are giving him more looks than what seems usual (being a tall human, and a noted one at that, in a passel of elves). He asks Sid about it, and Sid is very blasé at first. Of course they’re looking at you, you’ve accepted and worn my jewelry in public. I don’t see what the big deal is.

When Geno realizes that an elf giving jewelry to someone is a declaration of affection, he’s practically glowing with pride. Beautiful, strong Sid, adorning _him_ with gifts? Yes, that will do just fine.

But Geno does wonder: through their courtship Sid gives him quite a lot of baubles. Necklaces, chokers, brooches; rings and bracelets; delicate hair nets, earrings… Being well-off himself, Geno can afford nice things, but Sid is at a totally different level, it seems. He asks Sid about this, stating that he loves the gifts, but he doesn’t want Sid to go broke from his desire to outfit Geno.

Sid just blinks at him. He’s not going to go broke from giving away a few trinkets (“a few”, “trinkets”). He already had these things on hand.

Oh. Well. Okay then.

And, at some point during their courtship, which is proceeding toward what looks to be a very firm union indeed, Sid offhandedly mentions that while he does not have anything on hand, he could definitely procure some very finely wrought chastity pieces, if it would please Geno. The coy look he gives Geno from beneath his lashes, the little smirk Sid tries to hide…

Geno knows he is a lucky, lucky man.


	14. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Sid/Geno chat!fic. Thanks again to the denizens of the group chat who graciously allowed me to flood the chat with fic.
> 
> Inspired by “Deep Water Prompt #443: The princess only threw masquerade balls. No one had ever seen her face.”

People speculate all kinds of reasons Prince Sidney wore masks. He’s disfigured. He’s painfully shy. Looking upon him causes instant madness. He’s cursed. His beauty drives people to kill themselves from jealousy.

Geno’s heard all those reasons and more, so when the next invitation comes (for everyone gets them but he’s never been), he decides on a whim to check it out. Go see the masked prince in the flesh.

The ball is a gorgeous affair. Geno feels a little out of place in his slightly older formal wear, but he’s not the only one. And while the decorations and food are numerous and splendid, the people there are varied in every possible way. And everyone is, of course, masked; anyone who didn’t come with a mask was given one at the door.

Geno mingles. Nice music, nice atmosphere… He tells this to the man standing next to him, another wallflower, and he agrees.

“Have you seen the prince?” Geno asks.

The man looks at him, head tilted. His whole face is covered in a brightly painted mask, crystal beads sparkling around the opaque eye holes, a single raven’s feather sticking up near the top.

Geno assumes that’s a no. “Well _I’ve_ come to see the prince, because he always throws these things, and invites everyone in the land, so why not, right? But since no one knows what he looks like…”

The man says, a little dry, “Wouldn’t you be able to tell by his princely raiment? All those sashes and epaulets and what have you.”

Geno laughs. “Maybe so.” He tells the man his name is Geno, then asks him for a dance, and his name. The man acquiesces, and says his name is Sidney.

“Oh, like the prince, huh?”

“Yes, just like the prince.”

Geno chuckles and asks, “So are you the prince?” Since no one, except those already in the know, knows just by looking around at all these masks.

Sidney shrugs. “What if I am? What then? Or what if I’m not?”

Geno wonders aloud why Sidney is hesitant to give a straight answer. Sidney laughs.

They dance. Geno’s not half bad, good enough that he won’t step on any toes, but Sidney glides like he’s born to it.

At the end of the song Geno leads them over to the buffet, but Sidney declines to eat. Geno feels a little guilty eating while Sidney stands beside him with nothing, but Sidney assures him he’s fine.

They dance some more, and talk. Geno tells Sidney of his work in town: he helps his family run a bakery, though Geno dreams of working with horses.

Sidney perks up. “The palace stables house some of the finest steeds around.” Which Geno never doubted, as he’s heard the royal family enjoys riding.

Shyly, and perhaps a little eagerly, Sidney says, “I can show them to you if you want.”

Geno agrees, quite eager. So they slip away from the festivities and wind their way through hallways until they come outside to a quiet section of the palace.

They enter the stables: a long barn that smells strongly, but not unpleasantly. It’s well-kept, and the horses perk up a little when Sidney lights a lamp. They’re all beautiful, fine creatures in Geno’s estimation, and Sidney leads him to a petite filly, black with a white blaze. She tosses her head but allows them to pet her.

Sidney tells Geno, “She’s our newest addition, part of a personal trade that was brokered. Had to give up some minor land but it was mostly forest anyway.”

“Oh, is that all?” Geno asks, teasing.

Sidney shakes his head. “It was worth it,” he mutters.

Geno says nothing. They let the horses get back to sleep, and Sidney asks once they’re outside if Geno would like to walk the grounds.

Geno slips Sidney’s arm through his. “The prince won’t mind?”

Sidney laughs. “No, he won’t mind this either.”

The grounds are lovely. Well-tended, well-lit… and oddly empty, Geno thinks. Surely there would be guards posted? He voices his thought and Sidney merely says that the grounds are guarded well enough. They walk until they near the palace, where the ball is still going strong.

Geno tells Sidney, “It’s getting late; I have to be up early to make bread.”

Sidney nods, then looks around before drawing Geno behind a tall hedge.

Curious, Geno watches as Sidney fiddles with his mask a moment. There’s a double click, and the bottom of the mask separates, revealing Sidney’s full mouth.

Well. There’s only one thing for that.

When they draw back from their kiss, still sharing breath, Geno murmurs, “Is it all right for a prince to kiss a commoner?”

Sidney smiles. “Do you suppose I am the prince?”

Geno laughs and kisses him again, quick.

Sidney takes another moment to do up the mask, and they head toward the entrance of the palace where they take their leave of one another, glancing back every so often.

Geno goes to bed lighthearted. The next day is much the same as the last, and the day before that, and all the other days working in the bakery. But he doesn’t mind: it’s good work, and soon they’ll begin training an apprentice so he can get that job at the stables.

The bell above the door chimes near noon, and he heads to the front to greet the customer. The man is handsome, if a bit disheveled from riding. He’s running a hand through his curling hair and looking a little nervous. When he sees Geno his eyes widen. He audibly clears his throat and says, with feigned nonchalance, “I’m here to see Geno.”

At his voice Geno stops. He knows that voice. And… he doesn’t fully recognize this man, but there’s something familiar about him. He says, “I’m Geno, how can I help you?”

The man clears his throat again and holds out his hand. “My name is Sidney, and I’ve heard you’re interested in changing jobs.”

Geno takes Sidney’s hand gingerly. He studies his face, and his mouth. “Sidney? Like the prince?” he asks with a spark of hope.

Sidney smiles and laughs with relief. “Just like the prince,” he says.

Geno smiles back, and offers him a seat while he brings out bread and tea, and they begin to discuss horses.


	15. The Stranger

There is a man sleeping on Zhenya's couch.

This stops him dead in his tracks on his way to the kitchen to get his morning cup of tea, and wakes him up louder and brighter than any shot of caffeine. At first he's not sure what to do: retreat and call the cops, or wake him and chase him out? He knows what he _should_ do, but he finds himself rooted in place, studying the man who remains oblivious to Zhenya's rising panic.

His face is beautiful. Black curls drape over his sleep-eased brow; below a strong, straightforward nose is the plushest mouth Zhenya has ever seen on another man. His clothes are tidy if strange in a way that Zhenya can't put his finger on. His breathing is deep and even and enchanting to watch.

The man stirs, and Zhenya hightails it away from watching him breathe in favor of getting a hockey stick.

He comes back clutching the stick tight in both hands, the man still asleep. He inches forward and, arms raised as if to deliver a mighty cross check, clears his throat loudly.

The man twitches. He settles again.

"Hey," Zhenya mumbles, then berates himself. _You fool._ In a clear voice, with as much authority as he can muster, he says, " _Hey._ "

The man's eyes pop open and immediately focus in on Zhenya. And then many things happen at once.

The man stands much faster than Zhenya expected, so he scrambles back a foot or two. The man lifts a hand and says... _something_ , a word or a sound that raises the hairs on the back of Zhenya's neck. There's a golden glow at the edges of Zhenya's vision, and his stick burns hot for a millisecond before utterly vanishing in a glittering flash that makes color spots appear before his eyes.

Zhenya shouts. In the back of his mind his entire family scolds him for being so stupid and not calling the police like he should have. He's about to turn and run when the man speaks again.

"What—what are you _doing_ , Zhenya?"

And that's positively blood-chilling, this strange man knowing his fucking name, sleeping on his goddamn couch, pulling _God knows what_ sort of magic trick on his fucking hockey stick. He needs to get away. He needs to possibly leave the country. He stumbles back against the matching love seat and the man tsks.

"Zhenya, please. I'm sorry for startling you, but please calm down. I can explain."

A hysterical laugh comes bubbling up before Zhenya can squash it down. "Explain? What the fuck is there to— _who are you_ ," he yells.

The man sighs, terribly put-upon. "This is all a big misunderstanding. Please, just... oh fine." He waves his hand, and that golden glow comes back, and a hockey stick—Zhenya's hockey stick, that's definitely the one that vanished, pops back into existence in his hand. He holds it out for Zhenya to take, but sighs again when Zhenya steps back further. He can keep the damn thing.

"Who are you," Zhenya says.

The man straightens up, his chin lifting so he's looking down his nose at Zhenya who stands at least a hand taller than him. He strikes the end of the stick against the floor in a way that makes Zhenya think he's more suited to very long spears.

"I," the man intones, "am Sidney." His voice is rich with the same power that spooked Zhenya before. More normally, he adds, "I'm your guardian angel."

Zhenya feels he's going to need more than his morning cup of tea to make it through this.


End file.
